Stories – Howling Korean

Did somebody say ADHD

Why on earth am I diving into this writing thing again? After years of neglect, I’ve mustered up the courage to pick it up once more. Most days, I find myself mindlessly wasting hours scrolling through social media or getting lost in the never-ending web abyss. And for what? It’s time to take a breather from it all, and what better way to do that than to saddle up and get back on the writing horse?

Now, let me be clear—I’m no Shakespeare. I’m just a regular Joe with a bunch of jumbled thoughts itching to escape. But hey, in this day and age, we all feel that way, right? Especially with countless platforms tempting us to unleash our creative juices. It’s like a golden era where anyone can be a writer, whether it’s your neighbor Karen, an ethnic dad, or just a plain old dad.

There’s no hiding from the relentless onslaught of people trying to crack the next viral news, dish out gossip, or set the latest trend. And guess what? I’m a victim too—yes, I said the victim. I’ve even ventured into the granddaddy of them all, YouTube. It’s like the original gangster of content platforms. Of course, there’s also Insta, FB, Linked, Snap, and that ever-growing TickyTok. It’s a real head-scratcher trying to decide whether to go for dad cool, teen woke, or face the terrifying youngest generation, the Alphas. By the way, I don’t have a clever nickname for them, but I’m genuinely scared of those little rascals. Aren’t we all?

Just think about it—these Alpha kids have Millennial parents and Gen X grandparents. They were practically born with a tablet in one hand while giving everyone a sassy side-eye. Now, you might be wondering where the heck I’m going with all this rambling. Honestly, I have no flipping idea. I just want to liberate myself from the clutches of social media and reawaken my dormant brain cells.

That’s the starting point, you know? And it kinda helps me feel complete if I can unload my thoughts somewhere in verbal form. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that I can stick with this writing project for at least a year. Who am I kidding? It’ll probably last six months tops, and if I’m lucky, three months before I’m distracted by my next “brilliant” idea. Oh, the struggle is real, my friend.”

I broke my leg… i mean I ripped my pants

“What happened to you?” classmate
“I broke my leg” me
“What?!” classmate
“I broke my leg, see” me limping along stiffly as possible
“Hey, Carl look… Young says she broke her leg” classmate
A curious kid comes over lifting his glasses to make sure that my leg is, actually broken.
“Ahhh, I don’t think so, prove it” Carl
“see, it hurts so bad.” me lifting my leg, like a bag of bricks
“if you really broke your leg, you would be crying, you didn’t break your leg!” classmate

Moments later bored the boys finally left me to tend to my leg; I kept limping around the playground tightening my sweater of a bandage. Making sure that the rip in my pants was not exposed to anyone’s eyes, making sure I keep up appearance. Then no one would question my broken leg or my ripped pant leg.

Earlier that day I was running around after lunch, and all of a sudden I saw something that caught my eye on the floor. So like an old Korean man, I decided to crouch down to take a good look, when- rip! No joke two seconds flat, the inner lining of my amber colored corduroy split. I felt paralyzed, not knowing what to do I stood there, I wanted to cry and go home. But how with these stupid pants all ripped up everyone would laugh.
A scenario kept playing inside my head, my parents asking how my pants ripped, thinking for a moment then inevitably one of them squeezing my belly while nodding their heads side to side. As if anyone had to say why, and how the pants ripped. Poor chubby thighs, I’ll take good care of you, I thought.
After, my pants ripped, after the interrogation, after the imagined ridicule and lastly the self-pity a white knight came to my rescue. The beautiful nurse walked me over to her office. It was my first experience going into this fascinating place, where a kid can sit and rest, from bullies, sickness, or even imagined broken leg. The nurses will comfort you and ask how you’re doing and if you’re lucky they’ll let you sit there till your pride mends itself. When I ripped my pants in fourth grade, it was a big deal, because I understood it. When you’re a baby or a geriatric its expected nobody cares, if I saw a toddler or old grandpa rip their pants, I’d take a good hard look then shrug to myself, no harm no foul. But when a fourth grader rips her pants the whole world stops even if you didn’t break your legs.

Fashion Don’t – FOB addition

When you’re fresh off the boat, no one tells you what to wear, but more importantly, no one tells you what not to wear. Of course, I can see now why it wasn’t my parent’s top priority to make sure that I make the glam squad or be one of the popular girls in school. My parents like many other parents were busy trying to put a roof over our heads and food on the table, so a girl had to make do with hand-me-downs. To be perfectly honest my parents would have been happy if a potato sack fit me.

Here is a school portrait of me in the Fouth grade, Little House on the Prairie called, and they want their dress back.

Here is another one, before I moved to the states, I look like a goddamn communist, ready to work a full 8 hours, pitching hay.

This picture practically looks staged, as if I knew running for government office was in my future. Proving to the people that I too can have a real good time – Wheee.

If anything can be said about the young me is that she was consistent. The girl sure loved her young Republican look, and if there are two things that the teenage Republicans are good for are 1. Alex P. Keaton, and 2. you can bet your ass a button up shirt can be pulled off by any aspiring chubby yuppie. Despite not knowing what Republican meant back then, I figured it made for a cool look. As for me now, not much has changed, can’t go wrong with the whole American psycho look. Tailored made suits, slick back hair, and enough coke to last a lifetime sounds like a dream come true. So if I had a time machine to go back and change things around for my portly self, maybe I’d have her start on the coke earlier, because a coked out look is very chic. But then again, I don’t think I would like myself after learning the true definition of a Republican.

hi

Lunch in the cafeteria always had deep impressions on me; once I met a boy on the very first day of school in San Francisco Sunset District. His name was Hi. The idea of his name made me giggle just like a school girl. Hi, was the one and the only word I knew how to say and understood, having just immigrated to the US. At times on the streets kind strangers would greet me, and like a pro, I would shout back “Hi!” thinking I was some beauty queen. Despite the fact that I didn’t know the language, I would greet my new found friends. One day an older gentleman and I had a full on conversation, but because I had no idea what he was saying at the time I’d imagine it went something like this…

“Hi” guy who looked like he sang the blues
“Hi” me
“How are you doing on this foggy summer day?” guy who looked like he sang the blues
“Hi!” me
“Okay, mommy-o, I feel you” guy who looked like he sang the blues
“Hi” me
“Alright now, you go on and have a blessed day” guy who looked like he sang the blues
“hi?” me

The boy named Hi, and I also had full on conversation, and it went something like this…
“what your name” me
“Hi” Hi
“Yes, Hi, I know that already, but what is you name” this all spelled out for him in Korean of course. He looked at me quizzically, pointing to himself “Hi”, I start to chuckle thinking this dumb dumb is stupider than I am. I shook my head furiously side by side, and this time in English “You Name!?” and now he’s almost shouting “Hi- my name Hi!”.
This went on for a bit as you can imagine both of us being from third world countries. Looking back at it now, we couldn’t be further apart standing so close to one another.